


Colt Regan : Demon Hunter

by Wightraven



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Blood, Blood and Gore, Demons, Eventual Romance, F/M, Gore, Guns, Home Invasion, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Monsters, Mystery, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Police, Politics, Shapeshifting, Slow Burn, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Vampires, Violence, Vomit, Were-Creatures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-10-29 05:10:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10847130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wightraven/pseuds/Wightraven
Summary: This is the novel I self-published in 2010, an original story of modern supernatural horror, with a little bit of comedy, intrigue, and romance thrown in for good measure. IT IS COMPLETE; I will be posting updates every two weeks until the entire book is online for free!Colt Regan : Demon Hunter is the first book in the Colt Regan series. It's a world of vampires, were-creatures, demons, and more trying to integrate with everyday human life. Our titular hero fights the wicked supernatural beasties, and in this book is forced to train a new demon hunter in order to keep his license. Complications arise when a new demon shows up in town targeting Colt specifically, Colt's ex-fiance returns into his life, and a serial rapist puts pressure on the entirety of Neo Los Angeles.Ratings are for language, horror, graphic violence, and non-graphic rape content.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I self-published this novel in 2010, and though I did some later revisions the work is mostly preserved as it originally was written. This is something that was a ten-year project for me, if not longer. A lot of concepts, characters, and story elements were things that made sense to me at the age of 16, and things that were more acceptable six years ago than they are today. I've often said the first novel in my series is the least well-written, but you kind of have to read it to get into stuff... so why not release it for free?
> 
> If you like my work and want to read more, there's a link to purchase all four of them in my profile.

Daggers of lightning streaked through the cloudy sky as rolling crashes of thunder exploded into my ears, the raindrops keeping the time in what was a symphonic thunderstorm. I sat in the warm safety of my 1995 black Dodge Ram, listening to the Jethro Tull CD in my system. The metronome-like tap of the rain against my windshield only counted the seconds as I lapsed into my twenty-first minute of monotonous waiting.

Finally, someone I recognized exited the building. He was a skinny fella, cut just short of six feet tall with spiky blonde hair and thick-framed glasses. With a worried look plaguing his brow, he slung his gray suit jacket backward across his shoulder like a heavy pack and pulled his navy tie to half-mast.

Sighing, I leaned over to open his door. I kept as calm an expression as I could (even though the bastard had kept me waiting out here in the rain for what seemed like an eternity) and offered him a seat in the truck. 

He forced a small smile, looking so much like a drowned rat that it was an upward battle to keep my lips from curling in silent mockery. He remained silent as we situated ourselves, finally sighing heavily as I started the engine. His eyes were outside, staring at nothing in the empty parking lot.

“All right, Andy, what’s up?”

“I’ve got good news and bad news,” he replied, procuring a small, white silk cloth from the inside pocket of his jacket.

“Lay it on me.” I hit the gas and maneuvered out of the parking lot, my windshield wipers now adding to the concerto of the storm.

“Well, the good news is the Bureau decided to renew your license.” He took off his glasses and began wiping them down with the cloth.

“That _is_ good news. What’s the bad news?”

“You need to pull off a job within the month, or they’ll revoke it completely.”

“Sounds easy enough, so long as they don’t throw their ops in my face…”

“Er… not just any job, Colt. Sorry,” he said, replacing the cloth, “I meant to say they have a specific job lined up for you.”

“Well, great! Sounds like a done deal, Andy. I knew I hired you for a reason.” I smiled jokingly. Andy and I had been working together for eight years. We didn’t share a lot of interests, and we didn’t spend much time just hanging out, but I always felt we were more like friends than business partners.

Andy sighed. “Don’t sing my praises just yet, Colt. I haven’t told you what exactly the job entails...”

“Well, get on with it,” I urged.

“Ah… w-why don’t we talk about it over dinner? My treat.”

I looked at Andy, eyebrow cocked. I couldn’t tell if it was rain or sweat on his forehead, but in any case he was nervous. The guilty smile and the arrival of a slight stutter gave him away. I sighed.

“All right… but I get to pick the restaurant.”

“Of course!” he said. He was obviously trying to win my cooperation with kindness; a tactic he’d used before. It was also a tactic I’d taken advantage of before.

The drive time slipped away with the raindrops and soon I pulled into the parking lot of a large steak house, stalking through the rows of vehicles looking for a place to rest my baby. Another three minutes afforded me a spot fairly close to the door. I smirked at my minor fortune and removed the keys from the ignition. Andy caught me watching him as we unbuckled our seatbelts; I was trying to read him and see what he had to tell me, but before I got a chance to he smiled and shook his head.

“I figured you’d pick this place.”

We stepped onto wet blacktop with a red sheen cast from the huge neon sign above the brick building. The letters ‘D-A-N-T-E-’S’ lit up sequentially, followed by a bright orange flame that flickered above them and went out before starting the cycle over again. 

I could hear Andy sighing as we stepped through the door. This was my favorite place to eat. I’d been coming here since I moved to Neo Los Angeles. At first I was attracted by the gimmick; Dante’s was the only building this close to the rifts that managed to stay standing. After a few trips I realized everything on the menu was actually pretty good, and they weren’t too pricey either. Quick service from decent eye-candy topped it all off. Andy was never so impressed by it. He said that before their big business boom the place was a cesspool, and it’d never change in his mind. Whatever. Andy wanted to win me over, we were gonna do things my way.

A perky hostess awaited us as we pressed into the anteroom. She had short black hair adorned by plastic devil horns, and wore a black t-shirt and slacks. Her face was done up with bright red lipstick and heavy eyeliner to compliment her ivory skin. She beamed and tilted her head to the side, beginning the rehearsed greeting.

“Welcome to Dante’s, the only survivor of the Inferno. Smoking or non?”

“Smoking,” I replied. I wasn’t a fan of the cancer stick, but Andy was.

“This way, please.”

The woman led us past the bar where a mix of football, prime time TV and the news played on about six flat screen monitors, and into the dining area. There were a few couples sitting in the dimly lit booths and few loners… there was even a family of four, the youngest of which held a red crayon in his hand, drawing on the back of the place mat.

We finally came to our table as the hostess sat the menus down atop it. Andy slid in one side, laying his suit jacket beside him as I removed my duster and did the same.

“Can I start you off with something to drink?”

“I’ll have coffee. Black,” I said, glancing through the menu.

“Iced tea, please,” requested Andy, pulling his cigarettes out of his pocket. He frowned when he found most of them soaked from the rain, but ended up pulling one Marlboro out that was apparently smoke-worthy. Andy struck a match and pulled heat from the flame before shaking out the stick. A few puffs later and he already seemed more at ease.

“So tell me what’s goin’ on, Andy,” I said, not looking up from my menu.

Andy sighed. “Can’t we wait until we order?”

“Now, Andy.”

“Fine... the job I got for you isn’t… well, it’s not what you usually do, Colt,” he paused, not eager to deal with a pissed-off client. 

“Vampires?”

“No, not vampires.”

“Lycanthropes? I’ve pulled one or two shape shifter jobs before, Andy, that’s not—”

“No, Colt. The Bureau wants you to train another hunter.”

I could feel my right eyebrow rising up my forehead as irritation built up in my chest. “What?”

Andy sighed. “I knew you’d be upset...” he shook his head. “Look, it’s the only way the Bureau would let you get your license renewed. I sat in there for at least twenty minutes trying to get them to change their minds, to get you a normal job, but they wouldn’t have it.”

I folded the menu and laid it on the table, putting my hands on the smooth, cool cover in effort to calm myself down. I wasn’t surprised it wasn’t a vampire or lycanthrope job; the Bureau doesn’t officially regulate those types of rogues. But asking me to show some new kid the ropes when they _must_ have guys specially trained to do just that?

“Why?”

Andy sighed again. “OK… well, the Bureau can’t hire any more operatives because of the Workman’s Rights Act passed by Nikita Yudanov a few years back. They need to meet a minimum requirement of one independent hunter per every squad government-employed hunters, so they need a new hunter in the area to hire more operatives, especially with the way demons have been popping up lately.”

“So why don’t _they_ train him?”

“That one’s kind of complicated. If they trained him he’d technically be a freelance operative of theirs instead of just an independent demon hunter. He’d have to pay what amounts to guild dues, and since he’d technically be one of their operatives they couldn’t hire him on anyhow.”

“’Cuz they’d still need another indie hunter in the county before they could hire anyone else,” I ventured.

Andy nodded. “That’s pretty much the long and short of it.” He seemed proud I caught on so quick. It kind of irritated me, but to be honest this business stuff made my head spin so much he had every right to be proud of me. There was a reason I kept Andy around, and it wasn’t just my less-than-friendly attitude.

“So what is it I’ve gotta do, exactly?”

“The Bureau of Demonic Affairs has set you up with a young man who needs training. They’re going to send me jobs before they issue them to their operatives so that you have first dibs and he can get some time in the field. You’ll be paid for each job as usual, and you’ll also receive a bonus from the Bureau at the end of the month.”

“Wait a minute... a month? All the time I’ve got to train this kid’s a month!?”

Andy started to speak, but stopped as the waitress set down our drinks.  
“Are you ready to order?”

“Give us a minute,” I growled. She smiled and glided away.

I looked at Andy and sighed. Eight years was a long time to employ a liaison… most BDA agents didn’t stay with one client for more than three years, and last I checked the independent ones usually lasted about five. Andy never screwed me over before, and as much as I wanted something to take my anger out on now, this was the Bureau’s fault. I sighed heavily, untying the knot in my chest to curb the edge that would have been in my voice.

“How much is the bonus?”

“Five thousand.”

I thought about it for a second. “All right. When do I get to meet this kid?”

“How about now?” asked Andy, sounding downright excited. “He’s waiting out in the parking lot, and he’s _really_ looking forward to meeting you.” Andy smiled, proud at having roped me into this.

“All right, bring him in.”

He opened his cell with glee and hit a few buttons, talking away as I sipped my coffee. He then smiled, laughed, and closed his phone.

“So this was all a set up,” I said more than asked, already knowing the answer.

 

Andy smiled. “Yup! I knew you’d pick this place, so I told Alex to come here beforehand. I really want you two to meet, Colt. I think you’ll like him.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Andy you just got me this job half an hour ago. How’re you so sure I’ll like this kid?”

“I talked to him a bit before leaving the building. He seems really impassioned about demon hunting. The Bureau also gave me some background on him.”

I breathed a sigh and sipped my coffee. It was such a nice change from the chill of the storm, spreading warmth through my body like a good whisky. It wasn’t often Neo L.A. got this cold during a storm. The change wasn’t welcome.

Not five minutes later the waitress was escorting a man to our table. He was young. I’d put him in his mid-twenties. He had a shock of dark hair with steel eyes and he wore a black leather trench coat that swished about his matching combat boots as they clapped against the tile. 

The waitress laid another menu down for him, next to me. I slid it over to Andy’s side. 

“My name’s Lucy, I’ll be your waitress this evening. Can I get you anything to drink, sir?” She smiled at Alex, who was still standing.

“Coke, please.” He smiled back, showing off a little soul patch beneath his lower lip.

“All right, then! I’ll be back in a moment,” she lilted, and flitted off. The kid himself stepped up and offered an ivory-pale hand. I took it and gave it a firm shake.

Suddenly, his grip tightened. His head went back and his eyes closed, an almost orgasmic look on his face. I felt my own eyes widen and my brow furrow as I tried to pull my hand from his grasp.

“Colt... Michael Regan. You were born in... Mission, Texas... 19... 73,” a slight smile passed his lips before he continued. “You’ve been demon hunting for thirteen years... you’ve seen some-” he jerked in pain, “-terrible things. You’re extremely doubtful of this meeting, and currently... quite perturbed.”

He was damn right! I finally managed to wrench my hand from his, and his head fell forward as he let out a deep breath. He leaned against the table, breathing for a second, then stood up again. I glared at Andy, trying to physically shake the ghastly feeling of Alex’s hand on mine, and wondering what the fuck he’d gotten me into.

“Well!” Andy said, as if nothing had happened. “This is Alex Asche. Alex, this is--”

“We’ve been acquainted,” Alex said, slipping on black leather gloves and smiling grimly. I shivered.

“What the hell was that,” I demanded.

“Alex is an acute psychometric... ah, he can better explain it... Alex?”

“Are you… familiar with psychometry, Colt?” I shook my head. “Well, most psychometrics can get images from objects and ghosts. I’m quite a bit more… advanced. When I make skin-to-skin contact with another living thing I get... psychic images of their thoughts, their memories, their feelings... I can see into their minds.”

I narrowed my eyes at this Alex fella. If what he said was true he’d just seen into my mind, and that’s a severe goddamn violation of my privacy. Even if I had seen it coming it wouldn’t have been appreciated. The surprise didn’t make it any more pleasant. Andy apparently sensed my dip in mood and offered a spark for the conversation.

“Alex has worked with the Bureau since he was eighteen. They’ve been trying to use him for demonic research, but it hasn’t really worked.”

Alex nodded. “Demons aren’t dead, and something prevents me from seeing into their minds like humans... so I get no reading from them.”

“The government was planning on using Alex to figure out the demons’ weaknesses to make their extermination easier,” Andy butted in.

Alex nodded, affirming it. “I wanted to become a demon hunter when the Bureau threatened the only secure job I’d had in a while. It seemed the next best thing to what I had been doing, as I can’t read them to receive any gruesome imagery, and it allows me to work on my own.” I still couldn’t help but feel like they were selling me something. 

Our waitress returned, setting down Alex’s drink. “Are you ready to order?”

“Ah, yes,” answered Andy. “I’ll have a chef salad with blue cheese dressing, please.”

Alex was next, “Just the Coke, thanks.”

She looked at me expectantly. I glared at Andy again. “Give me the biggest steak you got, medium rare, and bring a bottle of A-1. Side of red beans and rice and a baked potato.”

“All righty, we’ll get all that food right out to you. Can I freshen your coffee?” I handed her my cup and she filled it, then skittered off again, back to the kitchen.

I turned to the others to find them both looking at me in anticipation. I sighed. “All right, kid. If you’re gonna be workin’ with me, I’ve got a few rules. One; never pull that psychometric shit on me again.”

“I assure you, it was just as uncomfortable for me as it was for you.”

I ignored his platitude. “Two, what I say, goes. Capisch?” Alex nodded. I did the same.


	2. Chapter 2

Light blotched its way into my field of vision, giving way to the lazy, twirling blades of my ceiling fan. I grunted, sat up, and wiped the crust from my eyes. The sleep timer had turned the TV off, meaning it was at least past ten. I’d gone to sleep around three A.M., which was actually pretty early for me. Pieces of last night started to come together in my mind like some bleary puzzle. I sighed and pulled myself from the couch, stretching and scratching. Staggering into the bathroom, I flicked on the light.

I was a mess. My white hair was matted to one side, and where that wasn‘t the case it was frizzy and moving of its own accord. I grunted and tried to palm it down, failing miserably. Instead I smoothed my Hulk Hogan moustache and felt my cheeks for stubble. Fuck it, I needed a shower anyway. I stripped off my boxer-briefs, stepped into the tub, spun the knob and grabbed the soap, giving myself over to the simple pleasure of a hot shower.

Fifteen minutes later I was a new man. I combed my hair slick back on my head and smoothed my moustache again. I remembered the stubble and decided a good shave was in order. Unlike most folk these days, I still used a straight razor. It was my father’s; he’d gotten it from his father, who brought it over when he escaped communism in Russia. It was a relic, and I treasured it. Tiny white hairs and shaving cream collected on the blade and I washed it with warm water in the sink.

My hair had abruptly gone completely white when I was nineteen. Mom said it had something to do with dad’s death... but that was mom. She was a Native American, an Iroquois. She used to tell my brother and I stories about the Great Spirit and old Native American legends. I kind of missed those stories. I kind of missed mom. I rinsed my face and decided to call her as soon as I was dressed.

Unfortunately that call got heavily postponed. No sooner had I put on a fresh T-shirt and a pair of black jeans than the doorbell rang. I strode into the kitchenette and looked through the peephole to my front door. It was Alex, the kid from last night. He was wearing nearly the same thing as before, this time without the jacket. The word “LORDI” graced his black T-shirt in twisted, blood-red letters.

I opened the door and squinted out into the sun. “I thought you goth kids didn’t get up until noon?”

“Well… it _is_ noon.”

A quick glance at the microwave clock affirmed it. “Well, fancy that. C’mon in.” I let the door swing open, walked back into the living room, and dropped onto the couch. Alex followed and just stood.

“Sorry ‘bout the mess,” I said off-handedly as I put on a boot, “but I sleep out here.”  
He seemed confused. “Don’t you have a bedroom?”

“Yeah,” I said, shoving on my other boot, “Or… I did. It’s my equipment room now.”

“Equipment?” he asked, smiling as though he’d already guess what I meant by the word.

I recognized the look and returned it; when two men share an interest in guns it instantly forges a sort of bond of mutual respect. I could feel myself getting excited to show off my gear. “Hell yeah, come on back.”

Alex followed me through the wood-paneled halls and into the back room. I flicked on the fluorescent lights and smiled at Alex’s face as he laid eyes on my collection. A sound of awe escaped his lips as he walked about the room, finally coming to a stop and letting out a wolf-whistle.

“You’re really set up here, aren’t you?”

I nodded proudly. Most people didn’t need an entire room for their guns, but when you’ve been hunting successfully for thirteen years, you tend to start collecting weapons without realizing it. 

I would accidentally fall asleep on the couch more often than not and tripping over my guns in the morning was getting annoying, so I’d taken out and sold the queen-sized bed and put up pegboard to hang my various arms, installing the lighting in the ceiling to give the room a workshop feel. Alex was gazing at my twin .50 caliber chrome Desert Eagles with something akin to lust.

“Nice, huh?” I asked. He nodded. “I haven’t used ‘em in years, not since that time I killed that were-spider.” I led him over to a section closest to the door where a shotgun and revolver rested. “That’s a Smith and Wesson Heritage Colt .45. The shotgun’s a 12-guage EAA Bounty Hunter.” Both were in prime condition. They should be; I took care of my guns, cleaning them after every time I used them and keeping them polished.

“Niiice,” he breathed.

“You got a weapon?” I asked.

“No,” he said, eyes still fixed on the revolver.

“Not exactly a good idea to go into the demon hunting business unarmed,” I reprimanded.

“I know,” he said, prying his eyes away. “I actually meant to ask you about that. I need to know what kind of weapon’s best when hunting demons and I figured you’d be the guy to ask.”

I felt flattered. This kid, instead of searching the internet or the Bureau library, came to me for advice on weaponry. A smile danced across my lips.

“Well,” I started, “first you gotta consider what feels right in your hands. Then it depends on what you want to do to them. Personally I don’t give a shit about dead demons. The whole body turns to ash in a little while anyway, so there’s no point in tryin’ to save ‘em for study. I don’t feel any sympathy for the plug-uglies, so makin’ death painless is out of the question. The Colt’s loaded with hollow point bullets. They're the ones that make one hell of an exit wound--”

“So I’ve heard,” he grinned so wide I had to return it.

“The shotgun does the same, really, but it’s shorter range and wider spread. If you’re cornered by a group of demons you can decapitate about three of them with a well-placed buckshot blast. Most of the meaner demons I run into blow apart pretty easy for some reason.”

Alex watched my eyes and gesticulations, rapt. I could tell he was absorbing every bit of information I was giving him, and I kind of liked it. Fed the old ego like a full-course breakfast.

“So what do you think you’re in the market for?”

“Well,” he said, swallowing, “those Desert Eagles are a nice sight, and I like the sound of the spread of your shotgun.”

“Yeah, I bet you do.” I chuckled. “My shotgun is mine and mine only, though. No one else touches it.” His face looked downcast. “I do have an Ithaca M-37 you could use.” He brightened and glided to the wall where I was pointing.

My cell suddenly rang and grabbed my attention. “’Scuse me,” I muttered, turning away to have a little privacy. I picked up my phone and hit the ‘talk’ button.

“Yeah?”

“Colt? It’s Andy.”

“What’s up, Andy?”

“Got a job for you. Alex there?”

I glanced back as if he may have disappeared. Nope, still there. “Yeah, he’s here. What’s the job?”

“An elementary school in the suburbs was hit.”

“Ah, man,” I moaned, “I hate seein’ dead kids...”

“Colt, it’s Sunday,” Andy noted, condescendingly.

“Oh.”

“The only possible casualties were a couple janitors who were cleaning up over the weekend.”

“Where is it?” I asked, walking into the kitchenette to grab a pen and paper. Andy rattled off the address, we said our good-byes, and I returned to the equipment room. “Grab the Ithaca, Alex. We’ve got a job to do.”

Alex grinned. “Sweet.”

I strapped on my shotgun’s holster, a four-strap model that allowed me to keep the Bounty Hunter on my back. The revolver’s bandolier went overtop that, and I set it in its home on my left hip. Alex just watched as I suited up, holding the Ithaca firmly in his gloved hands. 

I led him back into the kitchenette where I grabbed my duster off the peg near the door, a swoosh of black canvas as I wrapped it around my shoulders and slid my arms through the sleeves. The coat was custom-tailored to fit perfectly, and blood usually washed off of it with little to no fuss. I loved my coat.  
I grabbed my keys, then nodded to Alex. 

“Giddy up.”

* * * * * * *

The dead school seemed odd, even on a Sunday. Maybe it was how tiny it was. It looked like it was probably an older school, one that had survived a lot even before the rifts opened. Seeing that tiny, weathered school and knowing there were demons inside almost made the building itself seem like a victim.

I took note of the exits as we walked up. There weren’t too many; one at the front and one at the side from what I could see. I wasn’t too worried about the windows; most buildings had their standard windows replaced with bulletproof glass, which kept the demons out... or in.

“Alex, go around the back there and see if there’re any more doors.” 

He nodded and took off. He returned shortly around the other corner, shaking his head. “Nope.”

“All right, so here’s the plan; head in the front door, search the first level and make our way down. Always down; it’s harder for your enemies to keep hidin’ from you.” He nodded, a mixture of anticipation and nervousness in his eyes. Satisfied, I proceeded to the double doors, opening one wide.

The front office was eerily normal, almost cheery. Cute pictures drawn by tiny hands hung on the wall above multicolored stationery. I checked the two doors leading to other offices (nothing inside either) then signaled for Alex to follow me up the steps. Almost inaudible, below the clack of our boots on the tile, I heard munching and mewling noises coming from a classroom at the end of the hall. I checked in each room as we passed it but more to be thorough than anything else. I knew where my prey was.

The door was ajar. I tried to push it further inward, but something blocked it. Great. No way to get a peek inside without making noise... I sighed lightly and closed my eyes. A quick three count and I felt the hinges give as my shoulder struck wood. I rolled on top of the door, hearing a squish as it flattened against whatever had been blocking it, and popped up to see my opponents; fleas.

Even though they were only about a foot high, fleas were no less deadly than their larger demonic relatives. They possessed incredible jumping skills; I’d personally seen one clear a sixty-foot gap in a single hop. Those powerful legs dominated their bodies and ended in talons that got used for gripping surfaces more often than scratching foes. The thorax-like area was small and bulbous, and the head carried two deep red multifaceted eyes and a pair of wicked mandibles that’d slice through flesh and bone like wet paper.

In the split-second I had to react I leveled my shotgun at the flea leaping toward me and fired, splattering its hairy little black body into meaty chunks. Two more were feasting on something that looked like Manwich but probably wasn’t, owing to the fact it was oozing out of a dead custodian’s head. Another shot wasted them, and I gave the room a once over. No more mewling noises. No more fleas. I looked at Alex, whose eyes were wide in awe. I think if his hands weren’t full of shotgun they would have clapped.

I lifted the door to find the body of a janitor and the squished corpse of a Flea underneath. The flea looked to have been going at him for some time from the size of the hole in his chest. I sighed at his bristly moustache and the laugh lines around his face. He looked like a nice guy. I forced my eyes and my thoughts away, counting my kills for the bill while stepping over the mess. I finally looked to Alex.

“Get the idea, kid?”

“I... I think so,” he said, collecting himself. “I’ve never seen anyone fight a demon like that before. I mean, we had restrainers at the Bureau, but they’d just hit ‘em with cattle prods...”

I smiled as politely as I could muster without looking patronizing. “It helps if we cut the chit-chat, Al. We’ve got another end of the hall to cover, then the basement. In a place with acoustics like this, stealth is our best friend in the world.”

Alex nodded and immediately dropped his volume. “Right, sorry.”

The entire first floor turned up empty; just a bunch of papers, desks, books, and other educational whatnot. I half-wondered if those fleas were all this trouble was about, but the nasty feeling I got in my gut looking at the basement steps gave me a sick cocktail of hope and dread.

The basement was like the rest of the school; small. I hadn’t had a chance to catch the sign on the way in but the place seemed like it might be a humble little private school, like a catholic school or something. That would explain its teensy size compared to the rest of Neo L.A.’s sprawling educational complexes.   
We stepped down the hallway, peeking into the stock room, which was packed too full of boxes for anything to be in there. I tried listening at the door of the boiler room, but all I could hear was the hissing of the steam and the clanging of the pipes. I sighed and pushed it open, thrusting inside.

A quick pan of the room revealed nothing. It was dark, but the fleas’ eyes tended to glow an ominous red in dark conditions. Infravision, I think the other demons called it. Let ‘em see in the dark like it was daytime. I made my way over pipes and around tanks and found another door. Opening it led me to a larger room inside.

It was a dull gray, even duller from years of neglect. Cobwebs were the decoration of choice, and they accented the dismal surroundings well. I stepped past the threshold and walked in a bit. The room looked like an old gymnasium; the dusty floor still bore remnants of some of the foul lines and other boundaries. Seeing some movement from the corner, I readied my shotgun, prepared to investigate. Taking a few cautious steps toward the corner, I called out. 

“If you’re human, show yourself nice and slow, or I’ll have to shoot you.”

Promptly, a janitor shot up, arms in the air. His face seemed to count his age with wrinkles like the rings in a tree, and his hair was almost as white as mine. He was muttering almost unintelligibly.

“Ease up, there, old timer. I ain’t here to hurt you.” I could hear Alex chuckle behind me.

“I... I’m so sorry... I just... the things came at me... I ran down here... I...”  
He stuttered a bit more as he stepped out, pleading with me, it seemed, not to point blame at him. I was preparing to speak when a gnarled black claw shot through his chest. He looked down at it with only mild shock before his eyes rolled back as blood quietly poured between his lips.

I readied my shotgun as it crept from the shadows in the corner. It was huge. So big that it was impossible that I hadn’t seen it before. It was a shiny black, its flesh knotted and gnarled like the roots of an old tree. Great sinewy legs held it off the ground, cocked like a dog’s and shrinking it from an otherwise gargantuan height. Two enormous fiery blue eyes glared at me from the darkness as lipless skin pulled back to reveal a mouth of pearl-white fangs. A mass of dreadlock-looking tendrils writhed atop its head, each moving independently from one other. It stepped further, pulling its arm from the janitor’s chest with a thick, sucking noise, and letting him fall. With a shake it sent blood splattering across the back wall, and it exhaled heavily.

“Holy shit,” I heard Alex behind me.

The creature squatted, obviously preparing to clear the thirty-some feet between us. Seconds before its feet could leave the ground I heard a shotgun blast over my shoulder. Buckshot tore the fiend’s thin waist in half, and its two pieces fell to the ground. I sighed in relief, prematurely; it wasn’t dead. It dug its claws into the floor and started pulling its torso toward me at surprising speed. I fired at it, blasting its head to black chunks before it got too close for comfort.

Both Alex and I watched it for a second, making sure it wasn’t going to come after us a third time.

“What the hell was that?” he asked.

“Fuck if I know.”

He looked at me, disbelieving. “You’ve never seen that before?”

I shrugged. I couldn’t take my eyes off those pieces. Something inside told me to burn it... some primal urge wanted every little remnant of that thing gone… but fire down here would cause an explosion and it would be a pile of ash in a matter of minutes anyhow. I ignored it and turned to walk out. Alex followed.


	3. Chapter 3

“That’s right,” I said into the phone, “one thousand, four hundred. A hundred for each flea, and a thousand for some big-ass motherfucker I ain’t ever seen before.”

“You killed a demon you’ve never seen before?” questioned Andy.

“Did I stutter?”

“Of course not... I just--I mean, what was it?”

“I dunno, Andy. It’s not like I’m the world’s leading expert on demons.”

“I know that, Colt...”

“Look, just get me the money. I’ll talk to you later,” I said, hanging up. 

“Wasn’t that a tad... cold?” asked Alex.

“What?” I shrugged.

“I mean… it was a school. It’s not like they’ve got a lot of money.”

“Then they shouldn’t have asked for me.”

“I thought the Bureau was pulling back so you could have more jobs to train me? Maybe they didn’t have a choice?” He sounded accusatory, like I’d done something wrong.

“So I’m s’poseda change my prices ‘cuz I’m suddenly getting business? Doesn’t sound like a smart way to operate to me. If I’m the guy cleanin’ up your demons, you’re gonna get quality and you’re gonna pay for quality.”

Alex started to argue, then sighed and shook his head. “So what now?”

“You go home. Or to the store. Buy yourself a gun.”

“I can’t use the Ithaca?”

“Not my Ithaca. I ain’t a charity house, kid.”

Alex grimaced. “You know, you’re _really_ not the guy I thought you were,” he said as I pulled up to my house. I’m not sure if he was trying to insult me or if he was genuinely disappointed.

“Don’t pay to be nice in my line of work, Al.” I shrugged and considered his stance. The kid had a point, even if it was one that didn’t benefit me in the least. “Sorry.” It wasn’t much but it was the best I could muster without going back on everything I’d just said and done.

He didn’t respond to that. He just got out of the truck and walked toward his Miata. I rolled down the window to shout after him.

“I’ll give you a call if something comes up. In the meantime, why don’t you try a shootin’ range? Improve your aim some.”

He nodded, almost defeated-looking, and got into his car. I put my own vehicle into reverse and swung out of the drive. I had a friend to see...

* * * * * * *

High Street had become a road in one of Neo L.A.’s ritziest housing complexes since the rifts opened. I drove past dozens of suburban castles, pillars and professionally trimmed hedges rolling by my window. The motion lights blinked on as I pulled into a driveway, flooding it with a pale yellow glow.

I stepped out of the car and paced to the front door, then pointedly hit the buzzer with my index finger. I could hear a ‘dong’ from within, followed by a voice assuring me its owner was coming. Moments later, he opened the door and grinned wide.

Joseph Cin was a piece of work. Standing about two heads shorter than me with gray-brown hair and steely blue eyes he left a lasting impression in anyone’s mind, and it wasn’t because he was possibly the most default-looking person in the world; Joseph was an incubus, as was evident by the small vestigial wings on either side of his head and the devil tail protruding from the back of his jeans.

“Hey, Joseph.”

“Hey, Colt,” he greeted. “What brings you by?”

“Got a question.”

“OK. Come on in, I’m just having dinner.”

The inside of Joseph’s house was opulent in a different way than one might imagine. Ancient-looking paintings lined the walls, some of them his work. Sculptures and vases were also arranged about, the most noticeable of which was a human head and hands reaching out in fear from his red living room carpet like an obsidian man drowning in bloody shag. Cobwebs and an inch of dust covered everything, either due to a witty decorative sense, giving the house an eerie look, or sheer laziness on his part.

Joseph’s kitchen was a bit of a different story. Hell, compared to the rest of his house it was pretty standard. He even managed to keep it clean. Black tile lined his countertops and floors. The furniture and nearly all the cookware were black, as was the fridge and stove. All the black was set off by walls that matched the living room carpet painted on in arcing patterns.

Joseph motioned for me to sit down while he collected what appeared to be noodles in white sauce piled on a plastic plate (black, of course). He raised his eyebrows and held it up, gesturing.

“Want some?”

“No thanks,” I’d pick up some KFC on the way home. Besides, Joseph rarely cooked for more than himself and I didn’t want to hog his food. I may be ruthless about getting paid for my job, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be polite about somebody else’s dinner.  
He shrugged, grabbed a Dr Pepper from the fridge and sat down. “OK, what’s up?”

“I ran into one of your cousins today.”

“Oh yeah? Glad to see you’re working,” he said, in-between bites.

I nodded. “Yeah... got a problem though; I don’t know what this one is.”

“All right, let’s hear it.”

I described the demon to him, leaving out no detail I could remember. He sat thoughtfully, chewing, as I recounted even its more grotesque features.

“Sounds like a nihil,” he said simply.

“Nigh-hill…” I tried the word out on my tongue.

“I’ve never seen one in person, but my research has led me to them once or twice.” He forked a lump of chicken and some noodles, and then thrust it into his mouth.

“Great. So, what is it?”

“Not something to be trifled with, that’s for sure,” he said, laying his fork across the empty plate, “They usually just sit around, spawn fleas and try to kill each other, but sometimes they get uppity. They can phase--” he paused, observing my blank expression, “Er... teleport from place to place in the Netherealm and sometimes they pop in and go on a little rampage. They’re far more physically superior than most demons, and they’re _extremely_ hard to kill.”

“Shotgun seemed to do the job just fine.”

Joseph shook his head, bringing his hands together. “It’s probably not dead, then. The only way to be sure a nihil’s dead is to burn it. They hate fire.”

Damn it! I _knew_ I should’ve burned that thing. “Wait... I thought the Netherealm was mostly made of fire?”

Joseph shook his head and sighed. “You gotta remember, Colt; we’re demons in name only. We don’t come from ‘hell’. In fact only one plane of the Netherealm --Haelphagia-- is actually full of fire the way most people would think. The rest of the Netherealm is actually pretty diverse. Where nihil come from is actually a place called Ombra. It’s sort of… uncharted. The dark side of the moon, so to speak. All kinds of horrible stuff comes from there.”

“So you’re saying this thing’s still alive out there?”

“Well I don’t imagine he’s feeling too good after all that buckshot, but… yeah, essentially.” He knew I wouldn’t like that bit of news and started rubbing the raised scar tissue of the ankh tattoo on his left ring finger nervously.

He was right. I didn’t like it. “Well, shit. … thanks, Joe. I need to get home and get some sleep. No doubt I’m gonna have to deal with whatever havoc this thing decides to wreak next…”

“No worries, Colt. Take it easy.”

I had to laugh, but it was wry. “Sure, if I get half a chance to.”  
I left Joseph’s house with my questions answered, but I still wasn’t comforted. Something just didn’t seem right and it was twisting a warning in my gut… not that I could do anything about it. Bedways was rightways now. I was tired after working, and the thoughts of what could happen next weighed heavily on my mind. I pulled into my driveway and already felt a bit of relief. Still, this was shaping up to be a looooong month.


	4. Chapter 4

The phone woke me up at about 3:36. I mumbled angrily, stumbling over my boots to get it, and picked up the receiver.

“What.”

A feminine voice responded to me with just a lilt of a Spanish accent. “Colt? Am I waking you up?”

My eyebrows furrowed in surprised confusion. Was I hearing correctly? “Simone?”

“Yes, Colt. Did I wake you?”

“Muh. No, no. I was just… uh…”

“… sleeping?”

“Yeah.” I rubbed my neck and leaned against the cool counter. “What… why are you calling me…?”

“I’m back, Colt; back in town. I just got in and I had to call you. I’ve missed you!”

Sleep was fighting me, so I had to take a second to let this all sink in. My old girlfriend-- correction; my ex-fiancé Simone was calling me at three in the morning. Things were suddenly looking up.

“I’ve missed you too, Simone… uh…” I wracked my brain for something the least bit interesting to say, but found nothing. “I… don’t suppose we could talk about things later?”

“Of course Colt, you need your sleep. Here’s my number…”

She rattled it off and I wrote it down. “Thanks.”

“I’ll wait by the phone, Colt.”

I grinned. “Good night, Simone.”

I hung up and trekked back to the futon, softly kicking my boots against the wall so as not to repeat my stumble. I closed my eyes, lying back down, but sleep wouldn’t find me. I had too much on my mind now… between Alex, that new demon, and now Simone? Hell, I’d be lucky if I ever slept again until all this settled. I got up, scratched, and poured myself a cup of coffee. Thinking about my schedule, I realized I could probably meet Simone tonight, if no business came up. Alex would be training at the firing range, and I had nothing lined up I had to worry about. I smiled; today was going to be a good day!

My mind played on my relationship with Simone, as I got dressed. She was the best thing that ever happened to me and meeting her so soon after Andy and Joseph sort of made my life seem like everything was just falling into place. It didn’t last forever, of course. Not long after I proposed to her she was offered a great opportunity in France, and I told her to take it. Modeling isn’t exactly easy to break into, and I wanted her to be happy. From what I heard she had some success, but she never got to Tyra Banks status or anything. Most folks didn’t have a name to put to her pretty face.

Memories poured over me like chocolate syrup on ice cream, and they were just as sweet. Our romance had been a whirlwind when it first started. I met her not long after coming to Neo L.A. after saving her roommate’s apartment from a few fleas. She thought I was cute, I thought she was smoking hot and we made a date right then and there. Later that night we were on my couch, lips pressed together and hands exploring everything they could touch. Things kept at the same speed for the rest of our relationship. We spent every spare moment with each other, out on dates, home alone, holiday get-togethers. We were attached at the hip, and the thought of seeing her again made me more excited than I’d been in a while.

I called her later and arranged everything. By the time our dinner date rolled around I could barely contain myself. We had decided on Jean-Pierre’s, a fancy-schmancy little French place downtown. After the boredom of my day and a little nap, I found myself haggling with the host to get a table for two. My mood sank ever further after about an hour of milking my coffee when I resigned myself to being stood up. This wasn’t like her… not that I remember. Simone was always very punctual. Now I was staring at the tan-stained cup in front of me, regretting ever agreeing to this ‘date’. I sighed deeply as my phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Colt? It’s Andy. … are you busy? We’ve got… kind of a situation here…”

I sighed again. “A situation?”

“It’s… complicated. The police are here… they asked me to call you in… I… you really should come down here.”

“All right.”

“I’ve already called Alex; he should be here any minute.”

“I’ll be down.”

I hung up the phone and sighed one last time, looking around to make sure she hadn’t just sat at the wrong table. Nothing. Dropping the cash for the coffee on the table, I threw my coat about my shoulders and headed off.

* * * * * * *

After a sheepish call back to Andy (since I hung up before he could tell me where he was) and several miles of traffic-filled road, I found myself at a bar and grill on the outskirts of town. There were state police all over the place, and that made me nervous. Sometimes demon jobs had the local police in, mostly out of personal interest or desire to show off their badge and authority… but the staties were usually only called in on extreme cases. I picked Andy and Alex out of the crowd and walked over.

“What’s the sitch?”

Andy pushed his glasses up his nose with his middle finger. “Well, Colt, there’s been a few murders.”   
I rolled my eyes. “I guessed that much. You wanna tell me why I see so many tan uniforms standin’ around?”

“Ah, well…”

“They don’t think it’s a demon,” Alex remarked off-handedly, his eyes on the stars.

“You‘re shittin’ me. You _better_ be shittin’ me!” I glared at his nervous face, incredulous and angry. “’Cuz I swear, Andy… if you called me down here on something that‘s more suited to the local PSIs, I am NOT going to be a happy camper.”

Andy looked genuinely worried. I allowed my expression to soften; I’d obviously spooked him. “L-look Colt… th-they don’t think it’s just a demon… I-I… I mean... there ARE demons inside. Fleas! B-b-but… not just a demon’s work…” Andy stopped to push his glasses back up his nose again. “It SOUNDS like a demon… at least to me. And since you’re training Alex they thought he should be ready for anything. The PSI squad is here, Colt. Colonel Gats is right over there.”

I followed Andy’s gesturing hand to see an old friend of mine, Colonel Marcus Gatsopolis. Average height, pretty fit, but getting up there in years, Gats was the epitome of what the police force looked for in an officer. Unfortunately for them, Gats demanded to be transferred to the Paranormal and Supernatural Investigation (PSI) department. We’d run into each other a few times at a scene before.

I walked away from Andy and Alex to Gats, who embraced me as I approached. “Colt! Haven’t seen you in forever, old man! How the hell are ya?”

“I’ve been better.”

He looked almost apologetic. “Yeah, well. The staties seemed to think this investigation warranted their presence.”

“Why’s that?”

“Mass murder, Colt. The inside of that bar is _not_ pretty.” He gazed at the building as he spoke; removing his hat so as to smooth back what was left of his thinning gray hair. “I had a new kid with us when we arrived on-scene. Soon as he saw it started puking his guts out. The department said it was a lycanthrope attack…”

“Was it?” I asked.

“Well, it looks like it… I mean, the call we got… the bartender said that a woman transformed into a monster… then started tearing people apart…” Gats sighed and put his hat back on. “Andy wants to send your trainee in there. I thought we should wait until you showed up.”

“Alone? The kid’s still too green, what the hell good’s he gonna do alone?”

Gats looked at me as if the answer should be obvious. “He’s a psychometric, Colt. He gets… readings… from the dead…?”

I nodded my head, rubbing the bridge of my nose, remembering the feeling as he held my hand in at Dante’s. “Right, right. I try to forget…” I shook the memory away and sighed. “Well, no sense wastin’ any more time. I’ll be headin’ in.”

“Be careful, Colt. I think there were some of those fleas in there. Might wanna get your--”

“Got it,” I said, drawing my shotgun from its holster on my back before he even managed the word.

Alex was waiting at the door of the bar. He opened it for me, smiling and ushering me inside. I couldn’t help but chuckle at his little display. Apparently he’d gotten over his problem about my fees. Good. It’d make it a hell of a lot easier to work with him if he wasn’t playing morality police all the time.

The inside of the bar was one of the worst scenes I’d seen in a while. For a moment I thought the walls were painted dark red, but then as I saw them glisten in the dim light I realized they were simply that thick with blood. There was an arm on the floor beside the bathrooms, a beer bottle lightly clutched in its grasp. A torso served as a centerpiece for a table, lying face-down with his entrails spilling out onto the floor beneath. There were certainly enough organs strewn about to constitute the body count Gats alluded to. I heard Alex mutter a small noise of disgust. For some reason it made me smile.

“Don’t lose your breakfast on me now, kid. Just keep telling yourself, ‘it’s just like a horror movie’.”

“Eugh. Yeah, not really. For one thing, horror movies don’t smell like road kill. They also look a hell of a lot more… real.”

He was right. Seeing a man getting his head ripped off when he’s standing right in front of you never looks as ‘real’ as in the latest Jason flick. Maybe it was your brain’s way of saving you from the sheer horror of it, making it look somehow cheap and falsified. I stepped over a pile of innards and walked to the bathrooms to check them out.

“The cops said they got all the survivors out of the bathrooms before you came in.”

I grunted in response to Alex as I retreated from the bathroom. He was poking at a large red glob of something that was currently decorated with bits of rent flesh.

“What the hell do you suppose this is?” he asked, watching the glob wiggle. “It looks like Jell-o.”

I picked up one of those dry-erase boards that was sitting on the bar and faced it toward him, tapping on it twice to draw his attention to the dessert offerings.

“That’s because it _is_ Jell-o.”

He looked at the board, then at me before smiling and shaking his head. I motioned for him to follow as I headed for the back, pushing through the swinging old west-style doors. Alcohol and snack food were piled high in labeled boxes around a large freezer. I heard sounds coming from inside it and figured we’d found our demons. Alex gave me a nod and readied himself as I pulled the massive door open.

Inside were three fleas, which looked as surprised as fleas could before I filled them with buckshot. I took a quick glance around to see if there were any more demons lurking behind the meat and since there weren’t I stepped inside, Alex close behind. 

One final victim was inside; a waitress that was slowly turning all the ice on the floor red with her visceral leakage. She had feathered sandy-blonde hair like Farrah Fawcett used to, a few laugh lines covered by thick makeup to look more dramatic in dim bar room lights… she would’ve been kind of pretty if it weren’t for the disco ball-sized hole in her stomach. Alex crouched at her side, careful to avoid the blood.

“Gettin’ anything?”

“Something… a little… snippet…” Alex put his hand over the girl’s face, and instantly he jerked as if she were pumping a thousand volts through him. He was shaking so vigorously that if I hadn’t seen it happen before I probably would have been concerned.

“A woman… tan skin…” he jerked his head almost unnaturally. “Curly… blonde hair…” his breathing became ragged as he felt her emotions surging over him. “Fear… terror… she’s changing… her face… not… natural… black… twisted…” he jerked again, his whole body trembling. I thought for a second about pulling him off, but figured he knew what he was doing. “Horror! Oh my God… must… run… gotta get to safety… freezer… safe in the freezer… creatures… like giant bugs… no… NO! GET AWAY!!!”

“OK, that’s enough.” His screaming was starting to unnerve me. I forcibly pulled his hand from her face and helped him to his feet. He was still shivering, a small line of bubbling saliva running from the corner of his mouth, his eyes wide. He looked at his hand, as if there were some kind of mark left by the contact.

“God I hate it…” he paused to swallow, “when I feel them die…”


	5. Chapter 5

“So… what then?”

“Alex told the cops what he saw when he woke up. They keep going for lycanthrope because of the whole shape-shiftin’ thing, but I ain’t so sure. Sure as hell didn’t sound like no werewolf or wereshark or… were-anything, what Alex said he saw in that girl’s mind.”

Joseph paused to scratch thoughtfully at his chin scruff. We were in his kitchen again, this time at about three in the morning. The smell of cut grass and old barbeque wafted in through his small window like a quiet reminder that this was a suburban utopia and we didn’t belong here. Regardless of belonging, Joseph lived here and I found the undercurrent of brimstone he hid beneath layers of Axe deodorant more comforting than lawn clippings and burnt hot dogs any day. 

I had stopped by after getting through all the bullshit with the police to see what he thought about the situation. He’d been quiet for some time, sipping his coffee and staring off into the distance.

“They said the fleas had been there for a while, forensic analysis of the scene or… whatever. But it could still be a demon, right? That’s what it sounds like. Some o’ you guys can shape shift, can’tcha?”

Joseph nodded absently, his mind concentrating a little too hard to bother with speech. He took a sip of his coffee again. 

“Some of us are capable of altering our forms to a certain extent, but none that I know of are anything like what you’re describing. If it is a demon, I’d say this is something your side hasn’t seen just yet.”

“That’s not exactly what I wanted to hear…”

Joseph’s steel eyes darted to me. “I’m sorry, Colt. If I knew, I’d tell you. But I don’t. Unfortunately demons aren’t as easy to keep a running ledger on as your realm’s animals. New, horrific monstrosities are being born by the minute, and the fiends that create them don’t exactly keep us up to date on the matter.” 

“Sorry, Joe. I just…” I sighed. “If you don’t know then that makes me damn uneasy, y’know?”

He nodded and shrugged a small apology of his own, steepling his fingers as he thought. We sat in silence for a bit longer, Joseph as still as the dead but for the metronome-like twitch of his tail. He finally snapped out of his trance and spoke.

“I hear Simone’s back in town.”

This caught me a little off-guard. “Ah… yeah. Yeah, she is. She called me last night. How did _you_ know?”

“A friend of mine works at customs. He was telling me about the ‘Latina honey’ that came through on the last flight from Paris. The way he described her sounded just like I remember Simone looking.” He smiled slightly as his eyes turned to me again. “You guys been out yet?”

I shook my head. “Nah. We were supposed to get together earlier tonight, but… she didn’t show for a while… then the whole murder thing came up.”

“Right. You think you guys might…?” He inclined his head suggestively instead of actually saying what he meant.

“Maybe. I dunno. Like I said, she sorta stood me up tonight. She never woulda done that before. Maybe all that professional model work changed her or somethin’. I dunno.” I shrugged lightly and reached for my cup, drinking deep the energy-giving black coffee.

“Maybe…” he trailed off again, looking thoughtful, a slight smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

Joseph had a tendency to drift off into intense thought that wasn’t mitigated in the least by the presence of other people. It made him seem like he was trying to ignore a person, or at least on some sorta drugs that left his mind floating. He fell silent on me in that same way once more, and I recognized he was really only keeping up conversation out of politeness. I’d given him a lot to chew on tonight, so I decided it best to leave him think.

“Well, I’d better be headin’ out.” I downed my coffee and stood up. “You’ve got my number if you think of something.”  
“Sure. Goodnight, Colt,” he called after me as I walked out of the room.

* * * * * * *

The light on my answering machine was blinking when I walked in the door. I tossed my keys onto the counter and hit the button as I removed my duster and draped it over the back of the chair. After the machine alerted me that the message was received on Wednesday at 12:53 PM, that sweet voice that had been on my mind all day caressed my ears.

“Colt? It’s Simone… I am SO sorry about tonight. My boss called me in to do some emergency work for him, and I couldn’t really refuse. Anyway, if you forgive me… perhaps we could get together on Friday? I… can‘t see you tomorrow, Wednesday, or Thursday… but Friday would be great. Call me, baby.” She ended the message with the pronounced sound of a kiss. 

I sighed and plopped down onto one of the barstools at the counter, leaning against the tile. Emergency work? For a model? How urgent can pictures be? I sighed and shook my head, holding it in my hands and rubbing my tired eyes as another message came on the machine.

“Colt, this is Alex… pick up if you’re there…” he sighed, impatient. “All right. Gimme a call.”

Strange. It hadn’t been that long ago we were talking at the police station… I decided to call him back now and leave Simone for later. Shoving all the bittersweet thoughts from my mind, I dialed Alex’s number. Two rings and he picked up.

“Yeah?”

“It’s Colt. What’d you want?”

“The cops found some more evidence.”

“Yeah?”

“In the alleyway a few streets over from the bar. A Louis Vuitton handbag with a lot of blood on it that matches the blood from several of the victims.”

“Well, good for them. Maybe it’ll help ‘em find the killer faster. What’s it got to do with me?”

“Ah… there was a cell phone in the bag… service was disconnected just earlier today and the phone company’s giving the cops the runaround on divulging information as to their client’s identity… but, ah… your number was stored in contacts.”

I could feel my pupils dilate as this bit of information registered. The world went a little fuzzy around my ears as the shock cooled. “Whoa… what?”

“Yeah, weird, huh? You get any strange calls or anything lately?”

“… no.”

“All right…” he was quiet for a minute, not sure what to say. I think he’d hoped I might be holding a piece of the puzzle. “Well I guess I’ll let you go… uh… sorry to bother you.” 

“Nah, it’s fine… thanks, Al.”

 

He and I both hung up. I sat, dumbstruck for a moment. The only people that had called me were Andy and Simone… I sure as hell knew Andy wasn’t at the crime scene… but what about Simone? After all, she didn’t meet me at Jean-Pierre’s… I shook my head. This was crazy-talk. The beautiful and charming woman I once loved couldn’t possibly be the reason for the murders… 

But… 

Curiosity and paranoia got the best of me and I checked my calendar. From what I understand, sometimes the psychological ties fictional werewolves have to the full moon affects the shifting cycles of those who actually are lycanthropes. Thursday was the last night of the full moon… Simone couldn’t see me until after Thursday… coincidence? I had to find out. The only question was… how?


	6. Chapter 6

Sleep and I hadn’t been well acquainted lately, and tonight was no exception. Thoughts danced through my head too quickly for my mind’s eye to ignore. Whenever I did manage to catch half a wink my dreams were instantly filled with images of fashion show slaughters, Simone sitting among the bloody corpses, delicately licking the gore off her French manicure. 

The phone woke me with keening beeps at some point. I hadn’t realized I’d finally gotten to sleep, but the heavy, bleary feeling of my eyes told me it hadn’t been much.

I punched the talk button with my thumbnail angrily, creating a little frowny-faced dent in the rubber. I made some kind of noise that passed as a greeting and waited for the person on the other end to respond… … but they didn’t. There was a dull thud, a soft clap, and the click of the phone being hung up. I pulled it away from my ear and stared at it, the black thing giving me no answers as to who my mysterious caller was. I hate private numbers.

I sighed and tried in vain to rub the sleep from my eyes as I lay back down. There wasn’t a clock around, save for the one on my DVD player, and it was always either noon or midnight by that thing since I never bothered to set it. I figured it couldn’t be too far from mid-day, judging by the brightness of the sun trickling in from outside. I couldn’t shake the odd feeling like I had something important to do today, despite the fact that I knew otherwise.

I closed my eyes and tried to find even my hellish dreamland once again, but my lids simply felt too light to keep closed. The strange call had my adrenaline purring on standby, and oppressive glare of daylight didn’t help much either. TV! TV would save me. I picked up the remote, hit the power button, and watched as some tattooed jackass flickered onscreen, humping a zombie and laughing like a hyena. I turned to a local station, wondering why MTV even bothered to run programming anymore instead of just showing stock footage of animals having sex.

The rest of the day went by uneventfully, unless you count the fact that Josiah was cheating on Kimberly with her sister, Desiree, and Micah knew all about it but his amnesia kept him from exposing the sordid truth. Thank you, daytime television. The evening followed in much the same fashion (save that reruns of The Simpsons were far more entertaining than whatever crap I had been watching) and at about 9:00 I found myself walking around downtown, playing ‘guess which girl is really a girl’ with the nice folks on the street.

Too much was on my mind, and nothing was happening quickly enough to get it solved. I needed to talk to Simone. I needed to figure out what the hell was with that bag near the crime scene. What if it wasn’t hers? Does that mean I have two women who can afford to lose designer bags eyeballing me? Nah, I couldn’t be so lucky, even if one of them was a mass-murderer. That demon was still out there as well, and waiting for him to rear his great ugly head again wasn’t doing much for my nerves. Throw Alex on top of it all and my license on the line and you’ve got yourself ten pounds of stress in a five pound bucket.

Sounds of a struggle pulled me from my thoughts. My hand was on the Colt almost before I could think about it, and I cautiously stepped toward the alley where the sounds became clearer. There was definitely a girl crying; high-pitched but hushed sobs that eked out around a man’s voice cooing reassuringly… though his words were far from kind.

“Dammit, you stupid slut! Just… hold still! The more you struggle… the more I have to hurt you!”

I shook my head in disgust and narrowed my eyes as I listened to her pleading for him to stop and leave her alone. Yeah, I wasn’t about to let this happen. I stepped into the alley and pulled the hammer back on my revolver.

“Tell you what, pal; you back off the lady nice and easy or you’re gonna have more troubles than finding some poor girl to stick it in tomorrow night, you understand me?”

A round head turned to me and bright, beady eyes flashed, reflecting the distant street lamp. The dim light caused the sweat on his furrowed brow to glow slightly. His lip curled up in a snarl and he opened his mouth to hiss at me, then quick as a hiccup he was gone, a black flash against a black alley. I gave a quick glance-around, and then helped the girl up.  
“Did he… uh… hurt you?”

She shook her head, tears streaking her face as her glassy eyes kept darting behind me to make sure he wasn’t still lurking nearby.

“Did you get a good look at him?”

She looked down-- ashamed, I suppose --and shook her head again. I sighed inwardly and looked back into the depths of the alley myself. He was too fast to be human. Vampire, maybe. Or were-rat. Either way I was sure she didn’t need to run into anything else tonight. I took the liberty of escorting her to the police station, but didn’t stick around to help file a report. I figured she could tell the story just fine, and my head still wasn’t straight enough to deliver reports.

I passed a group of blood-junkies on my way home. Normal people--well, non-supernatural anyway. They made a big scene of conducting ritualistic bloodletting and blood drinking on street corners. Wanted to impress the vampires, I hear, so they’d come and grant them the ‘gift’ of eternal life.

Sometimes I hate this fuckin’ city.


	7. Chapter 7

“Oh, Colt, they’re beautiful!”

“You really like ‘em?”

“Yes! Sterling silver? … and real pearls! Oh, mi tesoro, you are so sweet!”

Simone lightly laid her hand on my shoulder, and that simple touch sent sparks through my body that I hadn’t felt in years. I had stopped by a jewelry store and picked out the most expensive silver earrings I could afford. OK, maybe it wasn’t the most brilliant werewolf test in the world, but it was something.

“Try ‘em on.”

Simone smiled. “Of course!”

She removed the black hoops that were currently in her ears and load the fish hooks into the holes. Nothing. No blood, no signs of irritation in her eyes… just sheer joy. There was a darkness to them I hadn’t seen before... she was hiding something, but it wasn’t a shape-shifting, people-eating kinda secret.  
“So, how long are you going to be in town?”

“Until my boss says we leave. He is _very_ fickle.”

“Kinda strange for a model to be rushed off so often, so urgently.” I poked at my steak with my fork, swishing it through the A-1 before finally taking it in my mouth and enjoying the taste of red meat.

Simone giggled lightly. “Well, I have a hectic schedule, believe it or not. I may not be killing demons, but I’ve still got runways to be at, and shoots to make. If Ellis needs me, I need to be there.”

“Ellis?”

“Eh… my boss. Ellis Whitney.”

“... the inventor of the cotton gin?”

Simone smiled as she chewed her salad, and then swallowed. “No, silly. That is _Eli_ Whitney, and he gets that all the time. Ellis is originally from Washington; he was in France on some business when I met him. He’s very good at what he does.”

There was a hint of troubled waters beneath the icy surface she was presenting me, but I just couldn’t bring myself to pry. Simone had just landed back into my life; I didn’t have the right to get upset about her decision to work for such a hard-nosed, fickle guy.

“So, how has business been for you, Colt?”

“Interesting, to say the least,” I said before taking my last bite of steak and wiping my moustache down with the napkin. “I’m set up with this rookie. Long story short, I train him and I get to keep my license.”

“That sounds… dire.”

I shrugged. “It’s work. The Bureau pulled back their ops so I could train Alex --that’s the kid’s name, Alex-- so I’m gettin’ a lot more revenue than usual.”

“Well, that is good to hear!” she smiled, calmly laying her hand on mine. Again I felt it, that tinge. That tingle. I could see a sparkle in her eyes, a longing for things that used to be buried deep beneath the worry. I wondered if she could see that sparkle in mine as well, beneath all the concern I’d suddenly developed for her.

The rest of the evening was spent sharing stories and catching up. All the usual stuff old friends do, except it was all caked in things we didn’t want to say; didn’t have the guts to ask. I’d catch the odd look from her… the level of her eyelids, the tilt of her head…. like a child in trouble, pleading to a parent for help. But she never said a word. I wanted desperately to call her on it, to find out what was bothering her… but social interaction was never my strong point and tonight wasn’t any different.

We went our separate ways afterward. No dramatic good night kiss in the rain; just a smile exchanged under a streetlight, and the lingering touch of her hand on mine. She seemed almost reluctant… but it had been years. Maybe I was too eager?

Too much had been happening lately. Why was _I_ the guy they picked to train Alex? Why did I save that girl from that rapist? Why did the fates suddenly see it fit that I was responsible for so much? I didn’t ask for a large lot in life. I just wanted to make my living keeping the monsters from doing to others what they did to my father. I didn’t need all this other bullshit.

Speaking of the devils, as I passed a stately church on my way home I was greeted with the sight of demons marauding outside, a few unlucky dead bodies on the steps. I sighed and squinted, hoping the church would actually pay me this time. I parked the Ram as quickly as I could manage and hopped out, slipping a bandolier across my chest, the Colt in its attached holster.

My prey this time around were fleshies. About six feet tall when standing straight (which they never did), fleshies looked mostly human, save they had no genitals, and no eyes. Instead, their flesh just covered the space where eyes would usually rest, like a massive wrinkly forehead. With a lack of vision, fleshies operated by scent and hearing, which they did through holes in their heads, since they also lacked proper ears and a nose. Their hands and feet ended in two-inch long talons, and their wide, gaping maws were filled with rows of bloodstained needle-like teeth.

A few quick shots dropped the three bastards on the outside. For all their menacing appearance, bullets took ‘em down just as easy as fleas. I paused to reload my weapon before walking up the steps to the door. I knew a few of the faces outside. I’d seen the heavy-set black guy with his intestines leaking from his abdomen at the grocery store a lot. Bradshaw was his name. We’d exchanged words once or twice. I felt bad for his wife, Latisha. They were such a close couple. He always talked the world of her… but the sympathy fluttered away when I saw what appeared to be her leg in the still-trembling maw of one of the dead Fleshies. I didn’t look for the rest of her.

Pushing the numbness aside, I kicked the door open and waited to be rushed… but I wasn’t. Instead I saw a priest standing, his mouth agape and his eyes wide with fear, the pupils nearly pinpoints. Blood trickled from the wounds in his head, which were caused by the heavy black talons that tightened their grip on the man’s skull as I entered the room. Attached to those talons was a hand, and to that hand was an arm, and to the arm was the nihil I thought I’d killed in the school. His grin widened when he saw me. Ice shivered down my spine.

“You have come, hunter. I was hoping you would.” It was the priest’s lips that moved, his high-pitched, pious voice that formed the words, but the words themselves were not his. “I saw demons feeding and hoped they would draw you. I am glad to be correct.”

A shaking hand reached up to his chest for his crucifix, the utter terror in the man’s eyes screaming to be assuaged by the familiar touch of his Lord’s sigil. The demon casually drew his other hand to the priest’s throat, gingerly hooking the necklace under a talon and bringing it into his line of sight. 

“Humans and their petty trinkets,” the priest sighed. The nihil shook his head and he slid his claw quickly across the thin string holding it together. Beads cackled as they hit the floor, followed by the heavy clunk of the wooden cross.

The priest’s shoulders lurched as his instinct told him to retrieve his faith, but as the nihil’s grip tightened and blood oozed from his scalp, the holy man’s eyes glazed over and he knew he wasn’t going anywhere. The nihil relaxed his talons again, clearly not wanting to kill his prisoner… his tool.

“Come closer, hunter… away from that door.”

My boots clapped hollow against the wooden floor, the echo bouncing off the flying buttresses and back into my ears. Four steps and the demon raised his free hand, signaling I had gone far enough. His violent eyes narrowed and his lips tightened.

“You are a thorn in my side; a stitch in the grand blueprint of my plan. Thorns can be clipped. Stitches can be mended. You…” the priest’s speech paused as the demon drew his eyes even narrower, to the point of becoming fiery slits, “… can be utterly destroyed. Know that, hunter, and distance yourself from my kin… and our business. Repercussions will be irreparable. Your life… is at stake.”

His piece said, the nihil spun his wrist and flung his arm upward, simultaneously snapping the priest’s neck and flinging it at me, blood, flesh, and bits of spinal column spattering across the church floor, the odd image of his scalp flapping as the head sailed through the air before landing with a soft, squishy thud at my feet. The demon smiled wider before spotty blackness tickled at his outline and pulled him inward upon himself, folding him back into his plane.

I sighed and closed my eyes softly, thinking of complaining but stopped by the realization that this is exactly what I asked for. I pulled out my cell and dialed Andy. After talking to him about contacting the church for payment, it’d be time for a return trip to Joseph’s… and maybe this time I’d get some answers.


End file.
